


Sense of You

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-10
Updated: 2007-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="http://2lineschallenge.livejournal.com/"><b>2lineschallenge</b></a> 2007. This is the Billy/Viggo story I've wanted to write ever since seeing the extras on the ROTK:EE DVD. I'm playing around with tenses here, and I'm worried I've made it confusing.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sense of You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [**2lineschallenge**](http://2lineschallenge.livejournal.com/) 2007\. This is the Billy/Viggo story I've wanted to write ever since seeing the extras on the ROTK:EE DVD. I'm playing around with tenses here, and I'm worried I've made it confusing.

**Lyrics**  
 _and i recall the sky once told me  
that all lies lead to the truth_  
-thrice, madman

Billy swings his legs over the side of the balcony, feet dangling over a drop he can't quite measure in the dark. The treeline below etches a swaying outline against the purple sky, distant lights from houses cast a glow into the night air. He looks at the stars and remembers a wish made more than a year ago, sand under his hands instead of wooden planks, surrounded by people who had become his friends for life in only a brief time.

He had found a shell and was idly tracing patterns in the sand thinking about the time he had been spending with Viggo. Billy suddenly realized just how much they had in common, recognized his reliance on Viggo's company. He could picture his eyes, the peek of tongue, the hint of scar, saw the animated sparkle that made him glow from within as he talked. That night Billy sat with his friends shivering in the warm air, uncomfortable at how carefully he had noted Viggo's features and mannerisms, but there was no denying they were etched in his memory.

The wind picked up sending sparks spiraling across the small circle of friends, and Billy followed their path, finding himself looking straight into Viggo's eyes. The flicker of the flames reflected their questions, amplified them until Billy almost thought he could hear Viggo's voice in his head. In those eyes Billy saw a Pandora's box that if opened would fill his life with confusion, hurdles and doubts, so he turned away from them. The sky was full of stars and Billy picked one, held it tight against his chest and poured his hopes into it. He wished for simplicity and peace, for the ending of complicated thoughts and feelings he didn't wish to address.

Billy remembers how it felt to break that unexpected connection, how he decided the flames had clouded his vision, the tears in his eyes nothing more than the sting of salt water mist. He watches the sky grow darker and feels pangs of regret. Easy and simple is boring, and he knows whatever path he chooses will more than likely be strewn with obstacles. But Viggo could make everything more bearable, provide peace and lift burdens Billy would struggle to overcome on his own. He wonders if you can take back a wish made on a star.

 

Billy sighs, deep and long, feeling every minute that passes as another weight on his shoulders. It had stormed earlier that day, and the air was still awash with the crisp scent of rainfall and the slow rush of water drops blown from branches by the wind. Finally, he can hear movement from inside the house, a muffled shuffle through the window screen. If he concentrates he thinks he can almost smell the familiar mix of woodsy, spicy musk that he's come to associate with Viggo.

The first time he can remember noticing Viggo's particular scent, they had taken refuge from the rest of the Fellowship on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Both tired and in need of escape, they had disappeared into Viggo's house with nothing but a bag of food and several six packs of beer. They set up camp in the living room, redolent with tobacco and an undercurrent of patchouli. They picked up instruments and played for hours, enjoying the mix of guitar, keyboard and Maori flute, making up original songs and setting poems to music. They beat out makeshift rhythms with thighs, coffee table and beer bottles, and laughed their way through a new version of Aragorn's coronation theme. When Viggo sat beside him, Billy became almost painfully aware of his friend's unique essence, reminiscent of the outdoors but with something stronger, almost sultry, underneath. Billy felt surrounded by it, began to crave it, and he panicked, moving to sit in the armchair instead.

There had been fire then too, the wood stove in the corner keeping the room warm. Easy conversation slowly turned to more animated discussions about music, each feeling a distinct resonance from everything around them. Billy had not met anyone who understood the way Viggo did, and found himself slightly off kilter as one more puzzle piece slipped into place. The air seemed to hum; Billy could feel its vibration against his skin. He looked up to see Viggo simply waiting, somehow knowing there was more Billy wanted to share. And to his surprise Billy found himself quietly confessing, confiding that music had saved him when even his grandmother's love had not been enough. He expected to feel vulnerable and foolish, had avoided telling anyone knowing they wouldn't understand. But Viggo simply held him in his gaze, comforted him through silent acceptance, and helped Billy heal lingering wounds of loss and guilt by doing nothing more than be present.

Billy is pulled from his thoughts by a chorus of crickets reaching a crescendo, abrading his already tightly wound nerves. He remembers how it felt to deny what was happening between them, remembers the lost look in Viggo's face. Closing his eyes, Billy can see himself settled back on the couch, Viggo's head on his lap. He can still feel the softness of Viggo's hair through his fingers, can still hear the silence now louder than words, can still feel Viggo's tears through his jeans, stinging and accusatory. He could have given so much more, but instead chose to hold himself back. Had he always been this good at deceiving himself? Had fear always run his life? Billy hears the isolated call of a bird in the distance and wonders if it's as alone as he feels.

 

The sound of the screen door sliding open makes Billy jump. He straightens stiffly, nerves rushing to the fore, hoping Viggo is glad he came here. He looks up to find himself being studied, the intensity of Viggo's gaze erasing any remaining compulsion to hide. He can taste the ozone on his tongue, feel the dampness still in the air, then Viggo's solid warmth beside him chasing the jester away and leaving nothing but the man behind.

It had been easy to joke this afternoon, simple to make light of their efforts to help Sean get out of his head and be fully in the scene. And Henry was there, and a dozen or so crew members, and the last thing Billy wanted to acknowledge was passion or romance. So he had told the expected joke, and cringed at the disappointment he could feel through Viggo's forced smile. But Billy couldn't dismiss the buzz of restrained desire that had enveloped them, lips parted just barely tasting what he had refused them for so long.

Later in his trailer, Billy still felt the fine nap of Viggo's costume beneath his fingers, the unexpected softness of his lips. For a brief moment after they pulled apart, before the laughter and ribbing and replacement of dented shields, Billy saw everything laid bare in eyes like the clear winter sky and uncovered the truth buried beneath months of lies. Their time in New Zealand was almost over and when they finally kissed it had been for public consumption, had been laughed at and dismissed. Although miserable, Billy wasn't defeated, and hoped he hadn't waited too long.

Billy breathes in deeply and tries to concentrate on why he's here. At night the back of Viggo's hillside home is only illuminated by moonbeam and starlight; the drop below deep and murky. Viggo puts an old ice bucket filled with scraps of paper behind them and sets them alight. Of course, Billy thinks, there's always been fire. Billy shifts to face him, watching the low flame cast half of Viggo's face in shadow. His fingers idly tap the decking, so eager to touch but still unsure. He rallies his courage, and begins again, taking Viggo's hand and holding it tight, memorizing every scar and callous. Billy scoots back from the edge and leans against the siding, pulling Viggo with him to sprawl between his thighs.

Billy relishes the weight against his chest, the strands of hair that tickle his chin. He places a kiss against Viggo's temple then leaves his lips on the warm skin. His fingers trace a path along Viggo's jaw and down his neck, sensitive to the pulse beneath. And when Viggo leans against him for leverage, wraps his hand around the back of Billy's neck and pulls him down for their first real kiss, all of Billy's senses come alive in a slow burning surge of fevered devotion. The rightness of this moment and the anticipation for more to come fills them both with a powerful strength, an energy that connects them and holds them safe and warm within its electrifying embrace.


End file.
